To The Trees! To The Trees!

Last night my chickens decided that they needed to roost in the trees/blackberries.  Now, I am a new chicken owner and this new development also came right after Reba (one of the Rhode Island Red/Cochans X's) decided to start making this god-awful racket.   She sounded like she was dying.  I was busy checking the Internet (to later find that she was probably getting ready to lay an egg or something), when the rosebushes began to shake, and the rooster was making a racket trying to get his girls up in the rosebushes with him. 

I was able to go outside and shake them down, but then a few minutes later the rooster, Jay-Z, managed to convince Reba and her twin sister Lucille up in to the arborvitae that also has a few blackberry vines wound through it .  Lady Gaga, the bantam-frizzle-cochan was the only smart girl and was happily roosting in her regular spot up in the coop.

Admittedly, I had, by then, had a couple of glasses of wine, so when I went out to try to get them down, the only thing I could think of that would reach them was my extend-able loppers that I use to prune with.  (For some reason the garden hose, or a rake perhaps did not even enter my mind.) I can only imagine the trauma that they went through last night when the one human in the whole world that they trust, went at them with a pair of pruning loppers, while shining a flashlight in their faces, when all they were trying to do was sleep.

It didn't work by the way.  I ended up just saying fuck-it, and praying that they would all be there when I awoke.  They were.  I guess I should just trust Jay-Z's instincts and let nature take care of my chickens (to an extent).